


Paper Hearts

by Leg so Hot You Can Fry An Egg (orphan_account)



Series: Grillby my side [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Forever Alone, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Grillby is a Poor guy who no one loves, One-Sided Attraction, Other, POV Third Person, Platonic Romance, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader-Interactive, Sad Ending, Third Wheels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 12:13:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7573648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Leg%20so%20Hot%20You%20Can%20Fry%20An%20Egg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every Saturday, a young lad (as some often called the person in question) came by the bar and took one single drink by themself. Grillby got so used to see this person alone that, on the day it came with company, he felt weirded out and cheated on.<br/>Based on the story of a friend who loved someone who was already on a relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paper Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Again, the summary is shit.  
> I wrote this in one of my bad days, so basically it is filled with sorrowful long descriptions. I know: nobody cares.

Tables of wood spread around the bar along with satin-like tablecloths filled with the colour green; cups left half empty on the busiest places; pieces of paper scraped by the floor and small bags of gold coins left by the bar; that was what composed the barman's world during his every day of working from 3 PM to 4 AM.

To Grillby, though, it meant more than just a barman's world. He saw these small things as marks of approvoal from the people who passed by - and he _had_ to considering how they left a mess everyday -, cleaning them every morning with the greatest care he could manage to give, treating every stain as special gifts left by the patrons when cleaning them. These small things were part of his routine, and differently from all the people he saw who had the same business as he did, Grillby did not try to escape it, always completing it everyday for the past fifty years.

Even though he did not try to escape it, it did not mean he didn't feel the need to rest. Unfortunately, whenever he took a break he remembered why he never escaped routine: he was alone for the past 300 years, never getting close enough to someone to be able to have them by his side during his depressive moments. Yet, that does not mean he stopped taking breaks now and then.

But that's not what this story is about. It starts during a windy evening of september - a saturday, more specifically-, close to Grillby's birthday, when the bar was half empty like cups of whiskey forgotten by the patrons during cold days; said evening was common and calm, as every evening of slow moviment was. It was around 7 PM, when the Royal guards were playing poker and Grillby was cleaning the bar stools absentmindedly, silent as always but taking notice of everything around him. He honestly was not expecting anyone or anything new today, locked inside his little box of thoughts inhabited by the same routine of tablecloths of satin, yellow flower pots and scraped papers.

And as if they could hear his thoughts, someone silently opened the door and left their thin striped coat by the hanger, closing the dark wooden door right after in the same motion it opened but in reverse. No one dared to look at said foreigner, as humans visiting the bar were already common, but the barman did, slightly changing the rhythm of his cleaning so the human would come by after he finished it.

This person was seemingly different from the others; not phisically, but the way it behaved was pratically a spotlight turned to them. In two years of working in the surface, almost every human that visited his little place were loud - or, mostly, surprised by the physical appearance of the fire man -, but this one seemed to be silent and calm just like he himself was in his now late 300 years of age. They didn't bother to look or even ask what Grillby was doing, simply taking one of the farest stools, clearly asking to be left alone for their sake.

When finished, the fiery man got back behind the bar and went directly to the front of the person, ever so gently pushing the menu on the wooden surface right to the receiver while trying to not bother them. Grillby knew, he simply _knew_ , how this person felt, as his existence itself worked like the existence of this foreigner - _just want to be alone and quiet, left by my thoughts_ \- and their souls melted the same colour and essence.

He could see the twitch of their lips as they saw the menu. They surely took notice of how the "food" section was composed of "Burger" and "Fries" - both for 150 G or 7 dollars.

"A beer and fries, please" whispered the foreigner, barely sounding above the hubbub of the poker table and jukebox. Their voice sounded young, probably seventeen and underaged to drink alcohol.

But today, Grillby didn't bother his mind with it. It was a long time since he could feel like someone was like him, so why bother the existence of the moment with an ID card? Simpathy hardly reached his mind when serving human customers, so this one _has_ to be special this once. Then, he bowed slightly to the human and went to the kitchen to make the fries.

As for the human, they sat there, looking at the shelves filled with beverages of every kind. Eyes without any trace of glow, they sat there, curiously admiring the handiwork of organization the bartender did on them. On the top shelves, old drinks that already don't exist anymore or that maybe never existed on the surface, aging with the grace of a well-made whiskey; right under these, XX century moonshines and various other drinks of the same time; and on the lowest ones, newly bought beverages, like Red Labels from Johnny Walker or even recently made Stolichnayas. Mixed between all the known-by-humanity things were unknown beverages probably made by monsters during their Underground times, some that smelled faintly like spicy tulips, polyantha roses and buttercups. A few bunch even had the faint fragrance of a sunflower field adorned with orange trees.

Looking around, the person noticed how the atmosphere of the place was extremely nice. Although there were tall and large people gathering around, all of them with strength enough to break the walls, they held calm and serene faces, holding cups and goblets of wine and rum. The walls, tinted with the cheerness of thin orange clay bricks, were barely lit by lamps with the format of lampions - which was completely reasonable taking in consideration how the owner of the place was a walking fire.

Before their eyes could venture further, someone cleared his throat by their side, calling their attention back; it was the walking fire itself, holding a plate filled with fresh fries and a paper with the selection of beer the bar held.

Nodding a thanks, the human took both things and analyzed the options. Handfuls of trademarks were disposed in plain readable calligraphy, the first ones holding their gaze for a longer time as they took notice of the unknown names. Hell, this place had beers from all around the world, didn't it?

"What would you recommend?" they spoke softly, pushing the paper back while biting one of the fries. The taste was unique, with a touch of black pepper - just like the place itself.

Grillby was taken aback by the question. Generally, the humans who got there chose the first ones because they didn't know them and thought they were monster-brewed when they actually were brought from different places of the world. But who would care to know a trademark called "Antarctica" and its place of origin?

He cleared his throat - this time, to speak, as he generally spoke two or three words in an entire week -, answering right after:

"I'd say Ayinger Celebrator Doppelbock is nice. Tasted it some time ago".

The reaction he received from the human, this time, was exactly like the ones he received from the others: a raise of eyebrows, a back-away and a look of surprise. Truly, humans were not used to his accent or voice.

"You have a beautiful voice, sir".

As he always did when receiving this compliment, Grillby nodded in a "thank you" gesture, getting slightly bluer right after for the shyness of it.

"Bring me one of these, then" the human finished, trying to hold a small smile that formed on their lips.

And so he brought one, going through the same process he went before to get the fries. Little he knew, but this day would mean more than he expected, as the newcomer would become part of his routine - a special one that he would wait every saturday to serve and throw small glances that meant entire talks about their lives, their names, their every beings.

...

On the second time the newcomer came to the bar, Grillby finally managed to discover their name, ever so rolling it out of his tongue like it was his favourite word before going to sleep that night. He was already 397 years old, and yet he felt like he never did before now, not as empty as before nor too filled to want to keep a distance from this new piece of his great puzzle-routine. in fact, he felt thrilled with it, like a child with their new toy or a dog with a new treat.

He never thought that his delight would develop in something bigger from the fifth visit on. On the fifth time the human called (Y/N) came to his place, their silences melted together, fusing into a long talk of four hours, thirty minutes and eleven seconds. That day, the blank spots of personality this foreigner left to the fire man were filled with details of great magnitude, making the plain, blank figure they seemed to be turn into a deep maze of feelings and moments. Said maze that Grillby wanted to venture himself inside, leaving his own spot on the history of it and create his own feeling inside it - _a place to call home_.

As the days passed, the person soon became old enough to drink without any legal complications, starting to come by not only during saturdays, but three times a week. Sometimes they did not even ask for a drink or something to eat, simply coming by to watch the handsome fire doing his job and leave small bits of talk here and there. To the human, they could not ask for something better as the fire being was the best friend they could even manage to find, filling his empty friendship spot with someone who could be their own light, their own little help and companion to the worst moments. Unfortunately, to the human Grillby was that and only that: a friend that they could come by to help and be helped by.

It didn't reach Grillby's soul, as he had no clue about this; to him, they were developing their own nest, their safe place to be, slowly turning into a mess of two lovebirds. In reality, they were like two crows of the same group but destined to other loves, never breaking the bond of said loves and staying loyal (even if they did not take notice of such).

During one of his sleepless nights, the bartender finally came to a decision: he should try to confess himself as - _fuck_ \- he was almost 400 years old and still did not find love; maybe, he thought, maybe this human is his answer to that, maybe this human is who he could love and be loved back, different from his people who mistreated him and threw him to live with the common monsters. This little creature of the kind he despised before, of the kind who made his friends fall to the Underground and live there - but that now he learned about how their essences are different from one human to another.

Also during the same night, he decided he should do it in the following day, as the human confirmed they would stop by - something that got the fire man's expectations higher.

And so, he waited, until the sun decided to invade his room and ordered him to get up, as he had gotten no sleep by his anxiety. Fortunately, being an elemental monster had its good sides, such as not looking like you had insomnia the night before - which would help him avoid questions, as one of his most usual clients who was a skeleton would ask from times to times how the elemental's life was going.

After his morning routine, Grillby did not wait until 3 PM to open the bar, cleaning it in an incredibly fast pace and being able to do so midday. It amazed him as the bar got filled with actual humans this time of the day, most of them trying to get something to eat as their lunch hour ran through their fingers. It also amazed him how they managed to empty half his stock of burgers and leave only one third of his potatoes uneaten.

But none of these facts made the man get annoyed, nor worried or exhausted. As far as he knew, nothing could beat his concern and anxiety, as he waited expectantly for his dearest patron to come by around 7 PM. His feelings did not help, as every minute passed by as an hour, tiring the poor bartender more and more, making his internal flames burn brighter to keep his flame the normal colour since the more he felt tired, the more his flames got smaller - and he wanted to make sure he looked his brightest in front of his "future" lover.

Sooner than he expected, the Sun fell to the other side of the world and the Moon kissed its hellos to the town's side. with one hour to spare until his expectations were completed, the man straightened his clothes and slicked the flames of his neck back to their place, receiving a small snicker from one of his patrons who sat by the bar.

"Hey, Grillbz, what's the matter?" asked the blue wearing patron, a skeleton who was surprisingly drinking ketchup. His name was Sans.

"... Nothing, really. Since when are you here?" Grillby answered, surprised. It was quite some time since Sans decided to come by.

"Decided to come by. Y'now, after we came to the surface, some people started to _somehow_ enjoy skeletons" the other said, surprisingly not using a single pun on this phrase. His grin raised slightly as he finished speaking, demonstrating both annoyance and happiness about how people accepted him and - probably - his brother in the society. "By the way, I'm waiting for someone today. One of the reasons why I still did not make a single pun until now: I'm _saving the fun for later_ " and winked.

For someone who was saving the puns to later, he surely started to use them early - and dirty puns, to make it worse. Grillby simply answered with a grunt, which got another snicker from the hoodie-wearer. Right after, the walking flame went to the kitchen, already knowing about the burger Sans would ask later - and that he would not pay today as well, for the matter.

As he got out of the kitchen, he felt himself freeze on place; right on Sans' side, giving a laugh muffled by their hands and the face flustered with a probable shame from something they heard, was the human Grillby was expecting to confess his feelings for. He would not mind it...

... _If the human was not wearing a silver ring on their right hand_.

Taking a deep breath, he hoped it was only for aesthetic matters and _fuck since when he started to notice what his patrons used on their hands?_ Faking his desolation with the same mood he was before, he left Sans' burger on the table, in front of the skeleton, and decided it was better to do other chores while his two closest friends chatted.

But Sans decided to interrupt the barman's thoughts by calling him.

"Hey Grillbz, do you know (Y/N)?" his smile was pratically screaming at Grillby, and he felt like it was mocking him - even though it was not. "They're... Well... How do I explain it..."

"Sans and I are on a relationship" the human finished, flushing right after while giving one of the sweetest smiles the fire man ever saw. Following the phrase, Sans' cheeks got slightly blue, and Grillby's hopes fell to the ground with a shattering sound - like the cup he dropped in the process. It was like his entire being was put out like a campfire, his reason to not sleep the day before useless. The permanent smile on his usual patron's face felt like a mockery, a true and stupid mockery, to his being. The bartender wanted to disappear.

"H-hey, are you ok, Grillbz?" the same mocked-smiling monster asked, worry in their eyes visible to everyone but the fire being.

"I... need to take a breath" same fire being answered, leaving through the backdoor with the same inebriety of a poor drunk soul.

And there, sitting on the bar stools, stood both his dearest friends, both unknowingly and confused, both in love and unsure about what happened. When the bartender took such action, Sans decided he should clean the mess the glass shards created, also feeling guilty for reasons he did not know and wanting to comfort his monster friend.

Little he knew, the monster did not want his comfort right now - nor from anyone else for the matter -; he just wanted to be there, alone by himself, feeling the night wind on his flames while he slowly faded his flames to a hollow orange of no glow.

He was already 397 years old; and when he finally found his love, it shattered in front of him and scraped like paper on the floor.

And so his heart did the same.

**Author's Note:**

> In this story, Grillby is the only fire monster that you can see in Undertale (apart from the Fuku Fire) because he was expelled from his clan. But y'all know destiny is a bitch: almost everyone of his kind was exterminated as they still lived in the surface (after the war between monsters and humans, these fire beings stayed as they swore loyalty to humanity) and humanity decided to betray them. Yeahp.


End file.
